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Prior to opening my own bistro, I worked for one of the city’s top restaurateurs in a four-star establishment.

While I called the shots in the kitchen and had full creative control over the menu, Darryl handled all “front of the house” affairs — including those of his hot wife, Gina.

Darryl only showed up once or twice a week to go over the books and meet with me, but Gina was often up front subbing as a hostess or rushing about supervising the floor — even when their friends from the country club came by. Since the place was not at all some cozy family-run pub, I wondered why she was always around. Surely she had better things to do on a Saturday night.

Still, Gina seemed to love circulating and mingling, and she went out of her way to flirt with the high-rolling businessmen, politicians and the occasional male celebrity that came into the establishment. Her antics and tight dresses were often a topic of conversation among the line cooks, though I tried to curb the chatter, lest we all get fired for talking about the boss’s wife. If Darryl was aware of the gossip, he didn’t seem to care. He definitely never tried to stop Gina from flaunting her considerable charms. No doubt, we were making money off them, but I always wondered if there was maybe more to the story. Well, let me tell you, there was.

Gina was a petite brunette. She stood about five-foot-two and had perky tits. Her boobs were round enough to remind me of miniature coconuts when she’d lean over the hostess stand. She had long layered hair and neatly manicured nails. It looked like she went to the salon daily. And those dresses she wore — talk about sizzling! She loved to show off her body in the tightest sheaths or slinkiest little slips. She never showed any pantylines, causing several cooks to bet on what she was wearing underneath — if anything.

One night, I stepped out of the kitchen for a break. We had only a couple tables remaining in the back — two businesspeople and one couple on a date — both groups trying to seal the deal, one way or another. The kitchen was closing in another half hour, and it had been a super long night. Frankly, I was hoping the suits would hurry up and pay their check and the couple would continue their foreplay in a cab.

Between the kitchen and prep areas, a small hallway made it easy to people-watch without being too obvious. I had a perfect view of the back of the hostess stand and the bar, and a partial view of the dining room.

As I mopped the sweat off my forehead and sipped a soda, I noticed Gina seated in a tall swivel chair over in the bar area. She was engrossed in whatever was on her phone. She looked up and smiled at me, and I gave a little wave, never expecting anything beyond that acknowledgment.

Next thing I know, Gina smiled again and licked her lips. Spinning her chair to face me head-on, she spread her legs under the table and pulled up her slinky black dress, exposing her bare pussy.

Was I hallucinating? I blinked. Nope. Gina’s pussy was on full display, and she was no doubt delighted by my incredulous expression. She reached down with one hand and began to stroke herself, cradling her clit between two fingers. Luckily my apron covered my growing bulge as I watched this naughty private show — and she kept her eyes on me the whole time. Then, just like that, she stopped, licked her fingers and winked at me as she went back to her phone.

“I tongued her ass while keeping my fingers busy with her clit.”

I am not ashamed to say I made a beeline for the men’s room to jerk off, and then stuck my sous chef with the remaining clean-up. There was no doubt I wanted her, but her husband was my boss, and he was “kind of a big deal.” So the next night I arrived at work determined to focus on business.

That night we had a big group of VIPs, in addition to a table with two food critics who planned to do a holiday write-up for the local paper. So there was plenty of stress to take my mind off wanting to bend Gina over the bar counter and pound her wet snatch.

Darryl and his wife were both on the floor mingling when the food came out for the bigwigs, and not to boast, thanks to my port wine reductions, the evening was a massive success. After the tables cleared out and the cleanup was done, Darryl congratulated all of us in the back with the promise of a sweet cash bonus if our forthcoming review turned out as good as expected.

As he leaned in to shake my hand, Darryl said: “Marco, we couldn’t have done this without your hard work, so there’s a little something else I want to offer you. Do you mind sticking around a little longer?”

“Sure, that’s no problem. Thank you.” I wasn’t going to argue anyway.

Once everyone else had left, Darryl opened the kitchen door and called in Gina. She was wearing a skintight green halter dress that set off her emerald eyes.

Darryl beamed at her and kissed her softly on the mouth, letting his hands run down her curves.

“She’s something, isn’t she, Marco?”

I chuckled nervously and nodded.

“Well, when’s the last time you had a dessert you didn’t have to make, hmm?”

Gina smiled and stepped closer to me.

“I — uh.”

“It’s okay, Marco.” Gina giggled playfully. “We both want to reward our top chef tonight. Isn’t that right, dear?”

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